The Bathroom
by muchmadness
Summary: Lindsay has a problem. It's DL. So, yeah. Read it? It's kind of graphic. All done! Last chapter added April somethingth. Sequel someday maybe?
1. Chapter 1

Stella was angry. It had taken her two and a half hours to get to the scene, and another half hour to walk down a steep ravine in three inch heels. She'd screamed bloody murder at every single driver on the road, practically slapped the officer who pointed to the body with a barely contained giggle, and now she officially wished that nature would go screw itself. There was a _mosquito _on her arm. That was unacceptable. So by the time her cell phone rang, she was just about to murder someone herself.

"WHAT." She called into the phone, slapping the bug on her arm.

"I need you to come get me," whimpered the voice on the other end. It was strong, yet clearly wavering, and Stella knew exactly who it was.

"Linds? Are you OK?"

Two hours earlier, Lindsay had gotten ready for a date. But it was not a date. And even if it was, that would be OK because she was single. Right? The guy was pretty cute, and hey, he seemed nice. She was completely and utterly single, because she'd been stupid and now _he_ didn't want her. So she was single. And, to top it all off, she looked pretty good. The dress was cotton, and plain, but the green made her look like a woman of nature, and dulled the homesickness. It was the color of the fir trees that flocked around her back porch.

Rick had picked her up at her apartment, which she thought was a tad bizarre since she hadn't told him the address. But someone must've. Her brother, no doubt. Rick and he had been friends when they were in grade school, until Rick moved away at thirteen. Rick had called her up and mentioned that he'd heard she was living in the city. They'd agreed to go out to dinner together, just to catch up. And to talk about David.

Lindsay's brother had gotten sick the past fall; a tumor had engulfed his lungs. She ached for him, wished that she could quit work and the city and ride up to his home in Maine just so she could sit with him and hold his hand. If she went out with Rick, she had no doubt that David would come up, and there was the possibility that she'd hear a story about him, something she didn't know, and he'd be there with her. So it wasn't a date with Rick. It was a date for David.

But it was a date against her, in the end, and she mentally berated herself as she sat, wincing and licking her wounds, up against a wall in a bathroom in Central Park.

She hadn't been this alone in her life, never listened to the quiet so loud that she was drowning in it. This was coming from the girl who'd spent weeks alone in the wilderness, up in Yellowstone and up near Slough Creek, with nothing but a sleeping bag and miles of trees encasing her. The phone only poured more salt into her wounds, for the static resonated in her ear and reminded her that the only person who she would take help from was far, far away.

"I need you to come get me."

"Linds? Are you OK?"

"I think my leg is broken."

"Oh, sweetie –"

"And I might have been drugged."

"Oh my God."

And then they sat in silence, louder than before, punctured with the occasional brush of static.

"Lindsay, what happened?"

"Just come get me."

"Honey, I need to know."

She sniffed, and moaned a pained sob into the phone, and Stella knew.

"I can't come get you, honey, I'm two hours away at a scene. Tell me where you are, OK?"

"I'm in a bathroom in Central Park." She racked her brain for more info – had she seen signs when she was running from him? Had she even bothered to look? How could she be so stupid? But then she remembered one – "I think I'm near seventy sixth street. East side."

"OK, now, look, honey, I'm going to get Danny to –"

"NO." Her voice had strength that shocked both women.

"He was at sixty ninth when I last talked to him, Linds. He's right near you."

"I want you."

Stella felt for her, she really did, and she knew that Lindsay would be hesitant to be in the vicinity of a y chromosome for some time, but it had to be done. It wasn't safe to wait for Stella to trek out to get her. Stella knew her priorities, and number one was getting someone to be with her.

"Honey, I'm sending Danny."


	2. Chapter 2

"Danny, I need you to get over to seventy sixth," Stella said breathlessly. She held her own phone, with Lindsay still on the line, to her shoulder while she spoke into another.

"Yeah, what's up?" he asked.

"There's a bathroom right near there, right?"

"Stella, ya gotta speak up. I can't hear a thing you're saying."

"Is there a bathroom near seventy sixth? In Central Park?" She hollered, causing several officers around her to straighten up and back away. The crazy Greek was not one to be reckoned with. (Just ask the Trojans. Ha. Ha. Shutting up.)

"Yeah, think so. It's closer to seventy-seventh."

"Well get over there, NOW." His nonchalance was pissing her off. She was tired of this 'new Danny' they'd all been dealing with. His determination to catch the bad guy had faded. Cases were disposable to him, something he could pick up when he felt like it. Frankly, Stella was tired of it. She was inches from getting Flack to beat him up.

"Wassa rush?" Danny wheedled.

"Lindsay's in a bathroom there. She's been drugged, and she's hurt. She might've been raped. Now get your ass over there before I kill you, you stupid jerk!" Overkill? Maybe, a bit. But she didn't care.

Danny stared silently at the dial tone he heard. And then he moved. He was in the car before he could think to hard about it, and the way he moved the car through the traffic was so fluid that he reminded himself of Anakin Skywalker in the giant race thing – hell, he'd have to ask Flack what the thing was called. He swerved and slid between cars effortlessly. He checked the speedometer, and saw that he was doing eighty.

When a taxicab refused to move out of his way, he lay on the horn so hard that his ears were ringing for minutes afterwards. He considered leveling the guy, or at least bumping up the back of the car a little. The guy moved. Danny couldn't help but flip him the bird and shout at him out the window, a feat when one is moving close to the speed of light.

He got out of the car while it was still moving, throwing it into park and ripping the keys out of the ignition. He pulled the first aid kit and his own kit out of the trunk and high-tailed it to the bathroom where light weakly shone out of a high window. And then he was stuck, encased in the jello of not-knowing-what-to-do; he was screwed.

It wasn't shame, it wasn't anger, it was just a simple incomprehension of how she ended up here when he should have been with her. Because she shouldn't be on her own, because he was hers, because there wasn't any harm that was allowed to come to her. He understood the city, the way it could be so cold and concrete despite the warm and mind-blowing originality it possessed. And it wasn't something to be in alone. He was her sherpa, her guide, whatever you want to call it, and under no circumstances should she be holed up in a bathroom needing a rape kit. That wasn't part of the package.

And so, like an idiot, he stood there, his arm poised above the door, ready to knock, but his body unable to move forwards.

Until, of course, he mentally slapped himself and called out to her, "Hey." _Hey? Are you kidding me? She's been assaulted and you say hey? What the fuck is wrong with you? Stella was right; you are a stupid jerk, _he remanded himself. He took a deep breath. "Montana, it's me."


	3. Chapter 3

Lindsay liked holding the phone. Yes, the connection had been lost. Yes, all she heard was beeping. But she liked holding it.

"He's on his-" Stella had said.

His what? His bike? His second shift? His coffee break? She had absolutely no idea. She didn't really mind once she let her mind sink back into the drugs. She'd never done drugs on her own, and Danny had told her that she wasn't missing much. But Danny had never been in this situation, and so she figured he didn't realize how comforting they could be.

It was like the time she got laughing gas at the dentist when she was seven. She'd known there was pain, had felt pain, but her mind was too quick to let it sink in. _Ouch ouch ouch, I love teeth, shiny metal tool, lovely curtains, ouch pain ouch, smelly dentist, hungry Lindsay, foot is itchy – _her mind had been everywhere. And now it was sort of similar, but in slow motion. The stars were twinkling slower, and though the drugs were almost gone, she still was not able to – or refused to – think about it.

The best thing about the drug was that the small things gave her comfort – the phone especially. And the stars. She saw the stars, and she took comfort in the fact that there were stars everywhere. If there were stars everywhere, then David was watching them, and Rick wasn't, and Danny was coming to get her, so fast that the stars must be a blur of bright light. She saw only a little square of stars, through the tiny window above the door. It was a neat, clean cut of the outside world, and she was pleased that she didn't have to go outside and see all of it. All of it would be too much; god forbid there be a sky _full of stars. _Ludicrous.

So she sat, with her legs sprawled in front of her, her ankle throbbing and pounding in pain, holding her phone and watching her little square of stars.

"Hey. Montana, it's me."

She hated herself for loving the voice. When it – the thing – had happened, she'd heard the gravel of Rick's voice and pretended that it was his. He wasn't saying anything vulgar or hateful, so she could do it. And she also swore that she did not like men anymore, because they could do things that she didn't like, and didn't want. So she heard the voice and told herself that she didn't want it. But before she finished convincing herself, she mumbled "OK."

And he opened the door. And he dropped the kit, or one of them, anyways, and the sound resounded across the bathroom. It echoed through each stall and hurt her eardrums and made her ankle throb even more.

What he first noticed was her eyes, and how they were not fixed on him, but behind him, to the neatly cut trees of Central Park, and the sparse stars that twinkled stupidly in the sky. Montana was 'big sky country,' and he thought that it must've hurt her to move to the city where the sky is framed in steel and metal, and glossed with a layer of grime. But he knew that there was something else in her eyes when she saw the world behind him, some kind of fear that he didn't understand, so he shut the door. She gave a sigh and relaxed a little.

The second thing he noticed was her body, and he moved and crouched next to her. He ripped off a portion of his long-sleeved shirt, from the section at the bottom, and pressed it to the cut on her head.

"Stings," she mumbled, and he was instantly apologetic, though he knew that it was not the pressing of the cloth that hurt her.

"Sorry," he said quietly. He surprised himself with the softness of his voice, because in his head, he was beating up the guy that did this to her. He was throwing punch after punch, kicking him in the stomach, throwing sand into his eyes.

He saw that her eyes were only slightly dilated, evidence that the drugs Stella had spoken of were wearing off already. He also saw that she had a few scratches on her thigh that disappeared up beyond her dress, somewhere only he should be touching. There was a bruise forming under her right eye, and her ankle was swollen and red.

"You should start processing here." Lindsay said quietly, bringing him out of his observations.

"I gotta get you to the hospital first."

"You'll lose evidence. It's better if –"

"You're hurt," he said, and the way he said it made her wonder which of them he was talking about. His eyes were filled with a sort of sorrow that she couldn't place, a wounded look that hurt her worse than the ankle. And that was saying something, because that ankle was killing her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, and broke, "I didn't know if we were – and he just seemed so – I couldn't tell – we weren't –" they were moans more than spoken words, and he guessed that it was some kind of bruising in her stomach. She was trying to express some kind of emotion, and she didn't have the strength. There were tears flowing down her face, and she made a small effort to brush them away, but couldn't seem to raise her hand up high enough. When the salty tears caught in the shallow cut along her cheek, she winced.

"You didn't do anything," he said, "so don't apologize again, OK?" and he brushed the tears away from her cut. They stayed that way for a while, his hand a gentle caress on her cheek, keeping more pain from entering her body, and she, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

"I need you to process here. Please?" She asked.

He caved. How could you not? With those eyes, it was impossible.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He said, "I mean, we can wait. It can wait."

"I scratched him," she said, and so he took out the nail scraper and took the DNA from under her fingers.

"Good girl," he whispered, and it earned him a crooked smile.

"There's dirt in my hair. From where – where it happened." Her voice cracked, and he tried to be gentle as he brushed her hair with a comb from his kit, collecting the dirt and bits of grass that fell from it. She leaned into his motions, letting him soothe her with the raking of her hair. She forgot why he was doing it for a minute, and pretended that her boyfriend was combing her hair.

She told him to take pictures of her cuts, and pointed where they were, and the bruises that lay beneath her skin.

"Anything else? We should really get you to the hospital."

"There's semen on my leg."

And there was the fact that stung the most, that tore his head into pieces. He saw her look away when he collected it with the crude tip of a q-tip. He wiped the rest of it off; there wasn't much, but just the fact that it was on her skin was enough to make him want to vomit. He knew that the tears hadn't stopped, so he reached up and wiped the freshest ones away from that cut on her cheek.

She was stronger than when he'd first arrived; she wasn't sure if it was the wearing off of the drugs or the fact that he was there with her. She still couldn't walk, though, and so he silently lifted her from the floor, moving slower than molasses so as to keep her ankle from jostling too much.

She hadn't expected him to carry her out, but he saw it as a given rule, due to the ankle and her missing shoes, and maybe just because he wanted an excuse to touch her and comfort her just a little bit more.

Once he'd settled her into the SUV, she gave one last glance to the little bathroom, and joked to herself that she'd never be able to pee in a public bathroom again. She almost laughed, and blamed her unexpected bubble of happiness on the drugs, and Danny, and the fact that he had an uncanny ability to make everything alright.


	4. Chapter 4

HI

HI! Sorry about the confusion. I'm not entirely sure how this site works yet.

So they're not a couple, it's after the whole Ruben thing, (so sorry I didn't clear that up) and they haven't been for a while. I was pretty confused after the most recent episodes about whether or not they were a couple, so I kinda just assumed that they weren't together. It'll clear up in the story, just bear with me, OK?

HOLY CRAP THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! You guys are so nice and encouraging! IF you have any suggestions or criticisms or whatever, feel free to tell me/yell at me. Especially if I make a mistake like the one above…

By the way – I don't own anything. I totally forgot to say that. Except for the whole story stuff.

Here's the next part! I'll try to clear things up in the future. By the way, this might be rated M. And it may be too confusing. Let me know!

"I wasn't raped," she told him.

"What?" he was so taken aback that he nearly knocked the chair over. They were sitting in the hospital room, waiting on her blood work. Danny was fiddling with the cast on her ankle, helping her get comfortable.

"Ow," she mumbled as he involuntarily squeezed the swollen limb.

He mumbled an apology and, once the foot was settled on a pillow at the end of her bed, he sat back down in his chair. He caught her eyes again and waited for her to continue.

"I wasn't raped," she repeated.

He took a deep breath. "Look, Mont- Lindsay, if you were, then it'll be OK. You don't gotta worry about anything; we'll get you tested and nobody will treat you any different –"

"I don't know why he didn't, but he just – he didn't," she took a shaky breath, "but he kicked me and hit me until I couldn't get up."

Danny's hands were balled tightly into fists in his pockets. His jaw set, and he had to remind himself that she needed him, and he couldn't just get up and go run screaming down the hall like he wanted to.

"When I was lying there, he – he –"

Danny's hand unfurled and he placed it on the bed, inches from hers. He wrestled with the decision to take hers, wanting to but not wanting, because he had no idea how she would react. He hadn't exactly been a first grade boyfriend, and once she'd told him she loved him, he'd backed off faster than a bullet. He didn't want to deal with girlfriend-y things after Ruben. It was Danny's get-over-it method; you back away and you think, and you hate yourself, and you let everything fester. And if someone gets in your way, then fuck 'em. There's no time for other people. But then – then she'd been hurt, and he knew it was his fault. If you push the people away then you can't hurt them anymore, but he didn't realize that you can't protect them, either.

He shook off the thoughts and focused on her. He reached out and took her hand, and he knew that it would be alright in the end when she squeezed his.

She took another breath, steady this time, and finished: "he unzipped his pants and he started … um … touching himself. Not me. He took off my shirt and he was … just looking, and touching himself. That's how the semen ended up on me. I wasn't raped."

"What's his name?" Danny's voice was strangled. He hadn't realized that there was a new level of low that the world could sink to.

"Can you – can I just start at the beginning? I don't want to – I can't tell you yet."

"That's fine," he murmured.

"Can you do something first?"

"Sure."

She worked it out in her head, and it was all set to explain to him. Rick had tasted like cheap wine and stale peanuts, and something bitter that she couldn't place; maybe it was blood from when he bit her lip. She didn't know, and she didn't want to know anything more about him. But it wouldn't leave. Her mouth was stinging and sore with Rick, and his tongue had been harsh and a knife that cut deep into her. It was worse than his masturbation. She'd gulped the water Danny had given her, had spit it into the sink, she'd eaten chocolate pudding, and fruit in a cup. But all she could taste was Rick. And Danny could fix it. It was science – a problem, and a solution. She mentally begged him not to turn her down.

"Could you kiss me? Please? I can't – I can still taste him."

He leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, gently and warm. At first it was like silk brushing her lips, a soft brush of skin on skin. Then he pressed a little deeper, so she could feel him there. She opened her mouth slightly, and he held back. But she nudged him lightly, licking his bottom lip. He opened his mouth further and swept her mouth with his tongue, and then Rick was gone, and all she could think was Danny.

It surprised her how much Danny reminded her of home. Once she'd left home, on the flight to the city, she'd felt homesickness nesting in the pit of her stomach. It settled there and rested, a heavy weight that would never let go, even on long phone calls to her mother. But Danny – she couldn't figure out how a man of the city could make the feeling disappear, like he fixed something inside of her. He inexplicably smelled like wood shavings, pine, maybe. And when that man wore green, she could practically reach nirvana. He fixed things for her.

They parted with a shared sigh, and she nestled back on the pillow and started to tell him the story.


	5. Chapter 5

She was wearing the green dress with a long-sleeved shirt pulled over it. Last second, she'd decided that the cleavage was too much. She wasn't even sure if she wanted a date with the guy. Plus, she was a pretty modest girl. She wasn't about to bear all to some guy she'd last seen more than a decade ago.

He'd picked her up in a car, which was nice. The seat stuck to her thighs, partially exposed with the short dress. She blamed it on the thousand degree blast of heat he had directed at her face. It made her sweat. No offense to Rick, (he was just trying to keep her warm) but that was one of her pet peeves. It gave her some MAJOR heebie jeebies to hear that sticky, duct tape sound of thigh on plastic when she got out of the car. She cracked her neck once she stepped out, a response to Rick's stomach turning driving. Before she could stop herself, she was off thinking about Danny's fluid motions while speeding through traffic, how the city would mold itself around him like putty.

Rick took her to a steakhouse in the theatre district. She'd never been to the restaurant before, and soon found out why. She hated steaks, for one, but how was Rick supposed to know that? _He could've asked, _she thought_, Danny did. Our first real date was for sushi, and he checked it with me beforehand, like a good guy should do. _She tore her mind from Danny and focused on Rick.

"How long have you been in the city?" she asked over the bread basket.

"About two years now."

They both sat uncomfortably, and she watched Rick's fingers patter on the tabletop. He'd tap his pointer finger, three times – tap, tap, tap – and then slid his middle finger to the right – shhh – then he'd tap the ring finger twice – tap, tap. It was an unsatisfying rhythm, and each time she'd wait for the third tap. Her eyes were glued, and, secretly, she started tapping her foot to make up for the pause. Once she reminded herself to have manners, she brought her eyes up to meet Rick's.

"So, what've you been up to? The last time I saw you, you hadn't hit a growth spurt yet," she said it with what she thought was a fond smile, but in truth she was adding 'and you still haven't.' He was roughly her height, and about her body size, too. It wasn't that he was feminine, but he just had a girlish look about him. It wasn't particularly unflattering; in fact, she'd noticed a few of the girls at the table to their left throwing him approving looks. _Nothing like Danny. When I'm with him, I've practically got to rip off my shirt to measure up. Not that he saw them. He'd just stare and stare at me with those blue eyes – Damn it, Lindsay, stop thinking about him! _

"I lived in Richmond for a few years before moving to Seattle. I've been dabbling in a couple of things, mainly jewelry sales …"

And he droned. And he droned. Eventually his voice faded into the blur of the restaurant, of too loud music and obnoxious chatter. She heard him stop talking once the food arrived, and turned her head away to look at the art deco painting on the wall next to her head.

That must've been when he did it, as she realized later, when he slipped the pill into her glass of coke. She felt herself getting dizzier and dizzier as the level of coke got smaller and smaller within her glass. Rick came in and out of focus, and she vaguely remembered him paying the bill.

The thing that she hated was remembering the whole thing. She wished that Rick had slipped her some kind of memory loss pill, just so that each second would stop playing over and over in her mind.

She hated, too, the way she couldn't do anything right, the way he pulled her along on the sidewalk all the way to the park. It was a far walk, and the tepid breeze hadn't helped keep her focused; it was part of the drugs, a lulling, gentle rocking.

And then at the park she gathered what senses she had left and started to run. It was a loping, crazy run that had very little direction, but she'd pushed Rick's hands away and had run pell-mell to her goal – a lightly lit window in the distance.

Rick stopped her; it wasn't hard. He grabbed her arm and punched her in the face, a branch from a nearby tree scraping at her as she fell. She couldn't lift her limbs high up, so she waited for him to kneel on the ground with her. She knew it was coming, and hated waiting for him to attack her. But he didn't. He jostled and moaned above her, and she felt burning warmth on her leg, and then he leaned down and kissed her.

"I had a great time," he said, "I'll call you." And with a smirk, he zipped up his pants and left.

She'd made her way into the bathroom, a stumbling, worm-like crawl, and sat and waited for things to make sense.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Lindsay finished telling her story, Danny had had to crawl into the bed next to her. After the third falter and the fifth shuddering breath, he couldn't take it anymore and had moved her slightly and then had settled her on top of him, mindful of her bruising. They both needed it; it was a mutual agreement.

"Where'd ya know him from?" Danny asked in the silence after the story.

"He was my brother's friend in Montana. He moved away when he was thirteen."

What he really wanted to ask was why she went out with him. He wasn't accusing, he wasn't mad at her (he couldn't ever picture being mad at her) – he just wanted to know all the details of how he couldn't protect her. He wanted to know why he hadn't been able to prevent this.

"Did you … how did you meet up?" He finally said.

"He called me, said he wanted to get together, talk about old times. I said yes."

"Where'd he get your number from?"

"I guess it must've been my brother."

She shifted slightly in his arms.

"You still hurting?"

"Just sore."

They resigned themselves to lying on the bed in peace. Before Lindsay had started her story, the nurse had confirmed that Lindsay had indeed been drugged, and while Danny went outside to review the blood work, the nurse had given Lindsay a rape test. Lindsay hadn't wanted one, but Danny had gently persuaded her, just in case. He believed her, he'd said, but they had to make sure.

"Do you know his last name?" Danny asked, watching the door for the nurse to come back with the rape kit results.

"I don't really remember. I think it started with a T, but I really don't know." She tilted her head to burrow into his shoulder. He started massaging the back of her neck, carefully, with his pointer finger and thumb. Just slow, lazy circles to ease her into sleep. The nurse had advised relaxation; it was really all they could do for her. She'd refused pain pill, wary of any kind of medication, and the IV in her arm was just keeping her hydrated.

Once Danny felt her head grow heavy on his arm, he knew she was asleep, and stifled a victory dance. A soft knock at the door told him that the nurse was there. He eased Lindsay's body into a comfortable position, wincing when she groaned lightly in sleep. He brushed her head with his hand to quell her, and closed the door softly behind him to meet the nurse. To his surprise, standing next to her was Stella Bonasera.

"Hey, Stell." He smiled.

She eyed him warily. "What happened to Lindsay?"

Danny explained what he'd heard as briefly as he could, summarizing the painful parts and condensing his girlfriend's assault into cold technical terms. He handed Stella the samples and told her to call him the second they were processed.

"Take care of her, OK?" Stella asked pleadingly.

"Yeah. I promise. Just work on getting the guy."

Stella's lips pursed in fierce determination, and she nodded. With a brief nod to the nurse, she left, samples and Lindsay's test results in her hands.

"Detective Messer?" The nurse asked, eyeing him flirtatiously.

"Yeah," he grunted. Suffice it to say, Danny Messer was not in a flirting mood.

"She's doing fine. The drug has practically worn off. We're able to release her now; you can take her home when she wakes up." She flashed Danny a 100-watt grin, pissing him off further. He wanted noting more than to shake her out of whatever fucked up world she was living in that let her think flirting over rape results was acceptable.

"The rape kit?"

"Negative, just like you said."

He nodded his thanks and turned to go back into the room.

"Is she your colleague?" The nurse asked hopefully.

"No, she's one of my wives," he retorted, and left the woman staring vacantly at his back.

Lindsay was sitting up in bed when he came back into the room, a hand clasped over her mouth to hold in her laughter.

He flashed her a smile and sat back in the chair next to her bed.

"Did ya hear what she said? 'Bout you going home, I mean."

She shook her head.

"I can take you home when ya wake up. You awake?"

She yawned.

"Obviously not," he snorted.

She laughed, but her face clouded momentarily.

"What?" He asked, "Is it your ankle? Is it buggin' you again? 'Cause I can ask the nurse for some of those pain pills –"

"He picked me up at my apartment for the date."

_So the scumbag knows where she lives, _he thought. "No prob. You'll stay with me until we get him."

She smiled again, less brightly, but her face was clearer. She almost threw a fit when she found out that she had to leave in a wheelchair, but Danny swore that it was doctor's orders. _Doctor Danny Messer, that is._

They stopped at her place for clothes and toiletries, Lindsay hoisted up on his back pointing out things that he had to go and get for her. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or what, but he would swear that she held on tighter while they were in her place, almost like she was scared that he'd leave her there. Once they left, he was sure that he heard her sigh gratefully.

She fell asleep in the car, a fact for which he thanked the gods above, partially because she needed the rest, partially because he didn't want to fight with her again about carrying her. He was worried sick about the fractured ankle. When he was six, he'd fractured his wrist, and with as simple a task as opening a door, the fracture had turned into a full on break. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he let her break her ankle.

Once she was settled into his bed, he crawled in next to her and wrapped an arm around her. He could feel her stomach rise and fall, and let the motion ease his mind. The story had been as hard for her to tell as it had been for him to hear.

He stayed up as long as his mind would let him, waiting for the buzz of his cell phone alerting him to Rick's real identity, or some sort of clue at least. The hand on Lindsay's stomach twitched, only to be soothed again by her deep breathing.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews; i really appreciate hearing what you have to say. Does anyone have any idea in what direction I should take the next section? The one after this, I mean (duh).

Let me know!

Also - I don't own anything (Do I have to say that for every chapter? Because that's just annoying.)

--

Lindsay had refused to let anyone in the lab know what had happened to her. Danny and Stella had both told her time and time again that nobody's opinion would change, because theirs sure hadn't, and she did nothing wrong, and so on, and so on. But Lindsay didn't care. She just wanted the whole thing solved and swept under the rug. Plus, Rick didn't bother her so much anymore, at least now that he had disappeared into oblivion. She spent all her time around people, if not Danny then Stella.

But the team found out anyways. Danny and Stella had refused to lie about it, and when Mac finally asked them why they'd both been covering so much for Lindsay at work, they had to tell him.

"WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED?" he thundered. Stella looked at him blankly; Danny visibly recoiled. Stella later said that she swore she heard him whimper.

Danny had pulled Sid aside with an x-ray of Lindsay's ankle to ask for suggestions or advice on how to treat it, and had been forced to explain.

Flack and Hawkes found out when they went over to Danny's place for their usual Monday night football event. When Danny opened the door hesitantly, their eyes had been drawn over his shoulder, glued on the shining white cast affixed to Lindsay's foot.

"Hey, guys," Lindsay had said dully, and then she'd asked Danny to explain while she went for a nap in the bedroom.

Flack had sworn that the guy would never breathe again. Hawkes asked Danny why Lindsay wasn't taking pain medication in such an accusatory tone that Danny stared at him openmouthed for a beat before responding.

Adam was the last to find out, by accident, as he tripped and knocked the case file to the ground that Tuesday, only to find himself face to face with a picture of Lindsay's black eye.

"Oh," he'd gasped, and Stella was suddenly above him, tapping her foot and looking mildly peeved.

Mac got the team involved on the case, and they all visited Lindsay once or twice in the week that went by.

Lindsay had to admit, it was a little more relaxing to have it out in the open, and it was comforting to see that they acted no different around her, the same jokes, the same mood. The most comforting moments were those with Danny, obviously, wrapped in his arms and watching a movie while he made slow patterns on her arm with the tips of his fingers.

"Should we talk about 'us' at all?" She asked him that Wednesday, lying between his legs once the movie had ended.

"Why?" He murmured the question into her temple.

"We jumped right back into the relationship thing pretty quickly, and I just wondered if –"

"Jumped back?"

"We weren't –" she faltered, "Were we going out still?"

"What did you think?" He asked honestly. He still didn't know why she said yes to a date with Rick.

"I figured you broke up with me. I told you that I love you and you just looked at me. And you'd been so mad, and I kept asking you if you wanted to go out – it had been so long since we'd been together and I guess I thought that you didn't want me anymore."

"Well, I did, and I do," he said openly, and hated himself for the mild mushiness. He hoped she wouldn't taunt him for it, but all she did was nestle further into his chest and sigh happily.

The next day, four days after the assault, the team met to discuss what they had.

Adam cleared his throat, "After the DNA results didn't match anything in CODIS, I ran every single Rick that's lived in Montana, and lemme tell you – there are a lot. There are about seventeen that meet the right age, but not a single one of them has lived in Seattle or Richmond. I'm still going through them, though."

Mac nodded and turned to Hawkes.

"I matched the dirt in Lindsay's hair to a clearing near a tree not too far from the bathroom where Danny found her. I found a blue scrap, cotton, and Linds confirmed that this guy was definitely wearing that color."

Danny and Flack had talked to the staff at the steakhouse where Lindsay and Rick had eaten dinner _("She doesn't even like steak," _he'd revealed to Flack upon their arrival), and had gotten descriptions of Rick that matched Lindsay's – nothing new.

Stella had trace from Lindsay's clothing, which had turned out to be more dirt and steak sauce, presumably from Rick's fingers. In other words, a big fat zero.

They did what they could – running the DNA through multiple databases, talking to Bozeman police, but they found very little. Rick seemed to be gone.


	8. Chapter 8

He called twice. The first call was short, but somehow it was worse than the second one, partly because her fingers were not laced with Danny's, and maybe because it was more of a shock.

Her phone rang in the late morning, and it woke Lindsay but not Danny. She let him sleep, shuffling and squirming as much as she could to find the phone without jostling Danny or her ankle. She finally found it, buzzing inside of her slipper.

"Hello?" She asked breathlessly, sitting up carefully.

"Hey, it's me," Rick said casually.

Her breath caught in her throat with a tiny groan, effectively blocking the scream that was massing in her belly. She was frozen to the bed, Danny sleeping soundly beside her, but miles away.

"I had a great time the other night, and I was calling to see if you wanted to get together again."

She could barely breathe a response. She clasped and unclasped the comforter next to her, a pulse that mimicked her heartbeat, as though she was trying to prove that she was still alive.

"What do you think of a dinner at my place? I could cook you something."

She felt a movement behind her, and felt Danny stretching on his side. She longed to reach for him, but found that she couldn't, just kept her methodical squeezing of the blanket.

"I hope we can take the next step in our relationship, Lindsay –"

Danny pulled the phone from her hand and demanded that the guy identify himself. Lindsay could hear the click of the receiver as Rick hung up.

"Montana, what did he say?" Danny asked.

She didn't answer him.

He pulled her onto his lap, pulled her out of her thoughts and back into the world.

He allowed her to rest on his chest and keep to herself while he called Mac and the team, telling Adam specifically to look into Lindsay's phone records and trace Rick's call.

Once he'd hung up and resumed holding his girlfriend, he decided to kiss her. He thought it was stupid at first, but he wasn't sure how he'd get her to start talking. If it calmed her, then good. If it shocked her, then hey – at least she'd be feeling something different than paralyzing fear.

So he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and found that she responded instantly. Her eyes opened and her arms moved around his shoulders. She pulled him close, and he responded in turn, his hands separating on her back – one going to hold the back of her head, the other sinking lower to the base of her spine. He slowly pulled the both of them back to lie on the bed, using his legs and his hips to shift her to rest on top of him.

They kissed slowly, lazily, often stopping for a moment to breathe slowly together. She paused for a moment, her eyes still closed and her mouth still on his, and he played with the hem of her shirt and let the heat of her body warm him, memorizing the way her chest pressed to his, how their waists moved together, how she twined her feet with his.

It was different then, different than the other times, only partly because, they'd generally have progressed much farther than kissing after an hour and a half of it. But Danny didn't care if they moved, sexually speaking, slower than grass growing, because all that mattered was that her body was just as warm as it had always been, her eyes as bright, her hands as soft.

She broke it at last, brushing a kiss against his cheek and resting on top of him.

He kept his hands where they were, held tight against the back of her head and the top of her butt.

"I guess I needed that," she whispered against him.

"Same here," he mumbled back, and gently threaded her hair through his fingers.

The second call was at work. Everyone had been working since the call, and Danny wasn't about to leave Lindsay at home while he went to work. He still refused to let her walk, something for which he received the silent treatment. She was just as soft in his arms as before, but leaned her head on his shoulder with a pout.

He put her in the break room, settled her in a blanket he found in their office. When her phone rang with the same number as nearly three hours before, Danny called for Mac to start a trace on it and sat next to Lindsay on the couch. They listened in, Flack and Danny on headphones while Adam worked magic with a computer.

"Alright, Montana, go ahead," Danny told her, wrapping her fingers in his and squeezing tightly.

She pressed the button and managed a surprisingly strong "hello?"

"Hey, there, it's me."

"Hi, Rick."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes." She gave a sly glance to Danny at this, as if proud that she knew something Rick didn't.

"That's good. I wouldn't want anyone getting in the way of what we have."

Lindsay looked up at Danny with a furrowed brow. Flack looked worried.

"What do we have, Rick?"

"Our relationship, of course."

Lindsay's fingers started to shake slightly, so Danny brought her hand closer, resting it on his knee and rubbing her palm with his thumb.

"Oh."

"So I was wondering if you wanted to go out again. I really believe that we can take the next step. Plus, I wouldn't mind seeing a little more of that body of yours." Rick's breath quickened, and Lindsay was sure that she could hear a faint tapping through the phone lines. She wondered if his fingers were at work again on a countertop.

She had no response for him this time. She merely waited, taking comfort in the tightening of Danny's hand on hers She looked at Adam, praying that he had zeroed in on Rick's location. He gestured with his hand, indicating that she should continue for another minute.

"I enjoyed seeing you again," Rick continued, "it reminded me of the things we never got to do together in Montana."

"I was seven when you left, Rick."

"The perfect time to start something. You were always such a little prude. I hope we can change that-" something rustled on his end, and Lindsay was grateful for the temporary static.

Adam motioned that he was ready.

"Rick I - I have to go."

"Alright, Lindsay. I'll call you again soon. See you!" And with a click, he was gone.

Lindsay threw the phone down and stumbled out of the room. She ran to the bathroom and fell to her knees above the toilet, heaving and gasping. She wanted so badly to throw up. She considered sticking a finger down her throat to fight the taste that had found its way back, the stinging taste of Rick. She tried once more to throw up but couldn't, and succumbed to racking sobs that shook her body to and fro until Danny came in and held her still. He planted kisses on her hair and her neck, telling her how well she did and how they'd find him soon.

She found his mouth and kissed him hard, running her hands up his arms and through his hair. She kissed him until her head was clear and she no longer felt like burying herself in a pile of sand and staying there forever, and even after that. She let him take over, and he lifted her into his lap and brought her into bliss.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: This is a really, really creepy section. I thought I'd give you guys a heads up. You will be freaked out. I actually was a little afraid of myself after writing it.

Does anyone think I should knock the rating up? Just let me know. I've been debating it for a while now.

Also - if anyone doesn't understand something about Rick's personality/why he did what he did, let me know, and I'll clear it up further. I was trying to be subtle, and I may have totally buried the real reason.

By the way guys, about last night. CHIN UP! Things have to be alright again. Plus, we can always pretend...

--

Rick Tolkin loved his classical music. There was nothing he enjoyed more than resting his feet up on his ottoman, a glass of red wine in his hand, listening to one of his best friends – Chopin, Mozart, Schumann, or – his favorite – Bach.

He closed his eyes and let the music take him away. It was his sophistication. He needed it – had to have some part of his life that was sophisticated to balance out the … other things. He tapped his fingers absentmindedly (tap, tap, tap, shhh, tap, tap) and thought of Lindsay. Mainly her breasts. There had been no greater pleasure than ripping off the top layer of her clothing to find those magnificent objects nestled in her dress. He had to teach her a lesson, give her a little bit of maturity. The world was not as prim and proper as she thought.

Even as a little girl, her innocence had bothered him. She'd been seven, then, and nothing had bothered him more than her fucking 'Virgin-Mary' quality. She had this stupid little grin, happy and oblivious to his developing teenage 'interests.' He used to watch her legs while she pranced around, playing football and swimming with the boys. He'd been happy to see those legs again.

He sighed and settled back in his chair. She'd learn. He'd get her trained eventually, and maybe someday they'd move back to Montana together, maybe have a little house near Bozeman, where they'd met.

He heard the door slam open, and his wine flew from his hand and smashed onto the floor with an anti-climactic tinkling. The red liquid glided out into a shaky circle, quivering with the footsteps pounding and the screams of the NYPD.

Rick ran for the window in his bedroom, ready to break it with his shoulder. Suddenly, from behind him, he was dragged by rough hands and pulled to the ground, before being kicked in the ribs by two different feet. One of said feet rested hard on his chest, forcing him into the ground much harder than needed.

Rick glanced up at the two faces over him, hardened with anger. One of them was fuming, and it was evident in his grating teeth and thin line of a mouth that he was debating killing Rick right then.

Rick stared back at them, recovering from their kicks, while the straining sounds of the Bach cello suites flitted through his ears.

"May I ask why you're here?" Rick asked.

"No, you fuckin can't." The angrier man snarled, "you know why." The two leaned down, and the taller, darker haired one cuffed Rick roughly, the cold metal instantly chafing Rick's wrists.

They read him his rights, dragged him to the police cruiser, and the shorter man 'accidentally' smashed his head against the side of the car door before shoving him inside.

Rick tapped his fingers on the tabletop. He'd been shoved from place to place. He'd first been dragged to a room with a number of men who looked similar to him (a rather unsettling experience), then brought back to an interrogation room, where he was now.

The taller detective, who'd identified himself as Detective Flack, and another curly haired woman walked into the room, laying files slowly on the desk in front of Rick.

"I'm Detective Bonasera," the woman said, "Is there anything you'd like to say before we begin?"

"I was wondering why I'm here, and how long I'll be staying. I have a phone call to make."

Outside the room, Danny and Lindsay stood hand in hand, watching the interrogation. Lindsay moved closer to Danny as Rick talked, wrapping her arms low around his hips and hugging him tightly. He responded in turn, putting a protective arm around her back.

"Waddya say we go get something to eat?" He asked her hopefully.

She was reluctant, but agreed. At least he wasn't carrying her everywhere anymore, though the crutches were considerably less warm and gentle than his arms.

As she hobbled down the hall at a speed rivaling that of a tortoise, he pulled her to lean on him, threw the crutches away dramatically with a few echoing 'clanks', and bent down in front of her so she could clamber up on him in a piggyback. She giggled at the surprised and confused reactions of the people around them as they made their way to the cafeteria, swinging her legs to and fro. She liked being carried by him more than she'd ever tell him.


	10. Chapter 10

RockinLizzie: I guess you're right. That was a little … quick. Let's make it more dramatic! YAY!

This is the longest one I've written! Cool... ON WITH THE CREEPY

--

"He's out on bail." Stella said, exhausted, "He's made a fortune in jewelry sales. His level of wealth sped up the process. There's no way they could've kept him in prison when money is involved."

"If he's so rich, then why did he take me to such a shitty restaurant?" Lindsay asked quietly. Danny let out a snort of laughter, putting his arm around her appreciatively. Since the attack, he'd found himself searching for evidence that she was alright, for her snarky comments and shy smiles. She'd shown no evidence of the attack. The first night, she'd sobbed her eyes out, but after that there was nothing. He felt like he was waiting for a bomb to go off, but wondered if maybe the bomb was a dud.

The three of them sat in Danny and Lindsay's office, flipping through old case files and taking solace in the other's presence. Finally, Stella stood up. She nervously paced around the room for a little while before throwing up her hands and heaving a sigh.

"This is ridiculous. We know he's creepy, he confessed to violating you, but it's not enough! I'm sorry, Lindsay, I really am, but I have to break it to you. He didn't do anything that merits more than a few years in prison. It's a lewd act. That's all."

Lindsay's face turned up to meet Stella's, her eyes searching the standing woman's face for something she couldn't find. She sat on her hands slowly, a trick she'd learned as a young girl as a means of calming herself and slowing the world down. "Are you sure?" she asked in a meek, defeated voice.

Stella softened a little at her reaction, and also at Danny's face, which was quietly shooting poison darts in Stella's general direction. He ground his teeth angrily and reached for Lindsay's hand.

"I'm so sorry, hon, I'm looking for some way to prove stalking, but I just don't see it. I just – I just have to let you know."

"Now?" Danny asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah. He's out in the open. I just want you to be careful, alright?"

Lindsay closed her eyes a few times, easing herself into the realization that Stella was right. "At least I've got _him_," she said, jerking her head in Danny's direction.

Danny smirked and threw a pointed look at Stella. Stella couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face, which had morphed to pride. He looked like a six year old who'd just found ten dollars on the street.

"Go home, you two. I'll see you in the morning. And for god's sake, Lindsay, get some sleep."

Danny pulled Lindsay to her feet and lifted her up. As he walked them to the car, he snuck glances at her face. Did they look red-rimmed? Were those dark circles under her eyes? Was she leaning her head on his shoulder because it was comfortable, or had she not been sleeping?

He settled her into the passenger seat, buckling her up carefully and slower than he would normally. She watched him curiously before leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek.

He turned up and grinned at her, and she leaned in again, placing short, happy kisses in a line to his mouth. Once she got there, he held her head and opened her mouth with his, rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

With a parting smile, he kissed her forehead and went around to the driver's side of the car.

When they were pulling out of the lot, she gasped.

"What?" He asked, alarmed.

"My fish!"

"What?"

"I didn't feed my fish. Oh, my God, Danny!"

He almost laughed, but her alarm told him that he probably shouldn't mock her. Plus, there were much more serious things to worry about, and if her fish was on her mind, then good. It was a problem that was easily fixed.

"Relax, relax, alright? We'll stop at your place," he calmed, resting a hand on her thigh.

When they pulled up to her building, he asked if she wanted to stay in the car while he ran up.

"No, no, it's fine." She stared up a the tall building ahead of them, remembering the stairs up to the elevator and wondered if he was tired of carrying her.

"Actually," she started, "maybe it's easier –"

"No, I take it back. We're goin' together, yeah?" As she remembered the stairs, he remembered Rick, and the phone calls, and the calm spookiness that shrouded the guy's voice and appearance.

In the apartment, once Danny had let her down, Lindsay hobbled around, shoving some more clothes from her closet into a bag and lowering the thermostat while Danny fed her fish. She moved to close her curtains before she saw the car. It was white, just like she'd remembered, and she was struck with the memory of the blasting heat and the sticky seats.

"No-o-o," she moaned, and stumbled backwards. She would _not _see him, she would _not _let him get to her. But she couldn't mistake his figure, leaning on his white Mercedes with his hands by his sides. The profile had burned itself into her mind, for she'd see it in her daze as she lay in the park, waiting for it to come closer and push into her. She'd watched that profile expectantly, and some part of her was still waiting.

Danny raced into the room at her call, catching her and holding her up.

"Linds? Montana? Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He followed her eyes to the window, and saw what she saw. _Son of a bitch, _he thought, _he's watching her apartment._

"It's OK, I promise."

She was talking to him in practical gibberish, her words running into each other in a race to get out of her mouth – "Danny hecan icant why ishehere, ohgodohgod we havetogo, ohgodohgod."

Danny brought her face up to his with both of his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Lindsay, it's OK. I'm right here. You're safe, alright?"

She gave a half sob, half moan, and fell into his chest, breathing in his smell and clutching his shirt tightly.

Danny knew that he couldn't leave her. He wanted to, because he was sure that Rick hadn't seen them in the room. The lights were off, and Rick hadn't moved since they'd been there. Danny was sure that he could take the guy; in fact, his only uncertainty was whether or not he'd kill him right then and there or make him suffer first.

But it didn't matter, because Lindsay was holding onto his shirt too tightly for him to take even the tiniest of steps backwards.

So Danny took out the phone and called Flack. There was a restraining order out on Rick, and this would be perfect testimony for a stalking charge. He kept the conversation brief, wary of Lindsay's intake of breath when he'd mentioned Rick's name.

At least Lindsay was showing something. She hadn't stopped crying, and Danny decided that they might as well sit down. He comforted her as best he could while his ears were on the alert for screaming sirens and shouts.

He heard a car drive away when the sirens came closer and closer, and he cajoled Lindsay into stepping towards the window so he could see if what he suspected was true. It was. Though he hid Lindsay's eyes from what might be, there was nothing outside the window, just the black department SUV and the empty street, soon to be filled with three or four squad cars.

"He's gone, baby," Danny whispered, brushing her hair with the back of his hand.

She insisted that they stay a little longer, taking solace in Danny's warm body and the approaching sirens. He swept her up into his arms, giving her time to settle and nestle in further before leaving her apartment, her bag swung over his shoulder.

The elevator descended slowly, the light pings of each floor ringing in the little box.

"Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

She fumbled for the answer. _For stopping me from loosing my mind. For kissing me whenever I need it. For carrying me around. For giving me your jacket when I forget mine. For keeping me safe. _

"For letting me crash at your place."

"I was gonna ask you to move in anyways."

Her head perked up from its place at the crook of his neck.

"Yeah?"

He nodded and tightened his hold on her.

"You can put me down in the elevator, you know."

"Nah. I'm good."

She smiled and kissed his cheek, then his neck, finally returning her head to rest near his chin.

He stepped out of the elevator and brought her to the car, pausing for a moment to talk with some of the officers. One car would stay and watch her place, and Danny was to call if he thought he was being followed.

She fell asleep in the car again, and woke up once that night, only to see him dressing her in a pair of his sweats and his own t-shirt. She didn't remember packing pajamas, and the other ones she'd brought were dirty. She gave a half grin.

"What're you doing? Go back to sleep," he berated her, sliding the blankets out from under her and tucking her in.

"You're not going to bed?"

"Nah, not yet."

She gave him a pleading pout. He laughed softly, and consented to lie with her for a little while, 'until ya fall asleep, but no more.'

She curled up against him, shivering as she adjusted to his warmth. He wrapped his arms around her and she slept on top of him, lulled by his stroking of her hair.


	11. Chapter 11

Yay, it's the weekend

Yay, it's the weekend! OK, so I read the comments, and I just wanted to thank you all so much! I was basically thinking that if I hit over 50 comments than people actually liked it a lot, but HOLY COW there were more than that! So thanks so much. I'll try to work in some of the stuff you guys reminded me of/suggested.

Oh, Distractedlyhere – There's a reason she didn't call, I'll address it in either this chapter or the next, OK?

--

"So, are you gonna move in?" Danny asked her when she woke up. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked around.

"What?" She asked sleepily.

He chuckled and kissed the topmost part of her forehead. He handed her a mug of coffee and a piece of jellied toast.

"You never answered my question last night. About moving in."

"Well, my brain hasn't exactly kicked in yet, but if I recall correctly, you never asked."

"Move in with me?"

"Yes." Her face darkened momentarily, and he curled an arm around her stomach and slid her to his chest. They both knew that it wouldn't be permanent for a while. Rick wasn't exactly the most observant person, but he might notice that something was up if the two of them started bringing all of Lindsay's things out of her apartment.

She brightened, and smiled at him. They lay facing each other, wrapped in arms and legs, touching and caressing each other gently. Finally, when Danny's phone rang, they separated and Lindsay went into the bathroom.

Mac called, telling Danny to come in and fill in for Hawkes, who had a bad case of the stomach flu. Danny protested weakly, hinting at Lindsay and the past night's drama.

"C'mon, Mac, you can't be serious. Isn't it Stella's day off, too?"

"I already called her in. Look, Danny, if we want Rick in jail, we've got to put a really solid case together, and right now, we don't have one."

Danny caved, promised to be there in an hour, and hung up.

"Hey, Linds, I've got to go to work today," he called in the direction of the bathroom. He heard nothing.

He moved closer to the bathroom door and repeated the phrase. When she didn't answer him for a third time, he pushed open the door.

She was standing in front of the mirror in her underwear and bra, lost in her own reflection. Her eyes were glued to her abdomen, and her gaze glided down from there to her thighs, dotted with dark bruising.

Danny couldn't help but think that the bruises were like smudges on her skin, traces of another man. Hate bubbled and frothed inside of him, but he stored it away for Rick and took a step closer.

"Montana, honey, you alright?"

She didn't answer him, just traced the outline of the largest bruise, a footprint shaped one that had settled right on top of her hip.

"They've been there a while, now. Shouldn't they have faded?" She asked dazedly, as though she was talking more to the reflection than to Danny himself.

That got Danny worried, and he settled down on his knees in front of her, gently moving her hands away so he could see the bruise.

He hadn't really seen them; he'd changed her in the dark and suspected them to be shadows, had seen the developed pictures of the then-invisible ones, and watched her wince sometimes when she moved too quickly or leaned on the table too hard. Now, on his knees before her, he was able to see them in their entirety. They were everywhere on her, in varying shapes. There were ones that he could easily identify – Rick's fingertips, his shoes – and then ones that he could only suspect – maybe a knee to the stomach, or a foot to her shin. There were scabbed scratches on her arms – fingernails and pebbles from the ground.

"I think they're healing pretty well," he said quietly, able to observe the light yellow-greenish color that had absorbed the small ones and had sunk into the edges of some of the larger ones, "but I want you to go see the doctor, OK? We should get everything checked out. But don't worry."

He placed a kiss to a spot right under her belly button, reveling in the way she touched his hair appreciatively.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"It doesn't bother me. It barely has time to; you carry me everywhere," she said with a grin.

He searched her eyes for the dazed look she'd had when he walked in, but found that it had disappeared with his arrival.

He hoisted her up, giving her time to wrap her legs around his waist. She kissed him deeply, and once she broke it he rested his forehead on hers.

"Ya gonna get some clothes on?" He asked, finally noticing her lacy black underwear and bra.

She shook her head.

"Well you're coming to work with me, ya know."

She shrugged her shoulders with a playful smirk, and kissed him again.

When they got to work, Danny set her up in the break-room with a pile of crossword puzzles and sudoku books, with her leg propped up on a pillow.

"Too bad you got dressed," he murmured as he left her.

She smiled and went back to her crossword.

While Danny worked, she couldn't get her head into the puzzles. She kept dropping them to her chest as her arms got tired, and letting her mind wander its way into the past. '3 across: 16th president's home' was _log cabin_, and that sent her back to her first boyfriend, Steven Lincoln, and their heated make-out sessions after history class. He'd been a total jerk, but she'd never kissed before and he was 'cuter than a bear cub,' as Lindsay's older sister had said. He was just as dangerous as a bear cub, it turned out, because, driving her home drunk one night, he'd crashed into a tree and Lindsay's arm had snapped like a twig. The two of them had spent hours in Steven's little log cabin treehouse, and Lindsay had spent hours of her own time trying to work out a joke about making out with Lincoln in the log cabin. Nothing ever worked.

17 down asked for 'to be human, according to a phrase,' and she'd known it was _to err, _which took her right back to her mother's soothing condolences after failed tests and terrible cookies – "to err is to be human, Lindsay. Everyone messes up." She never spoke the phrase after the worst times, a mistake that made Lindsay's blood boil. Was she just a human after she allowed Steven to take her home after seven beers? Wasn't she a human after she waited twelve minutes before calling the cops to that diner where her three closest friends lay dead on the floor? To err is to be human, but to royally fuck up deserves a slap across the face.

Danny took her home late that night, rubbing his eyes to keep himself awake. He picked up Chinese food on their way home. It didn't slip by him that Lindsay was unusually quiet.

He let her think, settling her in his most comfortable chair with some chow mein, and kept his mouth shut until she wanted to talk.

--

By the way – for anyone who doesn't know – baby bear cubs are dangerous because the mother is usually near, and you could accidentally get in between the mother and her cub and potentially be mauled. Ok, so the simile doesn't work so well because I don't talk about the mother, but hey, I'm no professional author.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's note: So eventually, they've got to catch this guy. As in, incarcerate. Suggestions? Critiques? Let me know!_

Her head was exploding. There were fireworks of thoughts going off in every which way, banging and sizzling then ebbing away. There were nice thoughts, like how the Chinese food was so warm in her stomach and how her hair looked good that day. There were naughty thoughts, like how Danny's feet were planted a little wider than normal and his legs were wide, and, as he stretched back, she thought dirty things about the strip of skin that was exposed. Then there were the bad thoughts, the ones that had been lurking and fighting in the pit of her stomach, eager to get out.

So she let them.

"Rick was my fault."

"Nah, he wasn't." Danny said it so calmly, so openly, that she stared at him with her mouth parted. He hadn't even paused, hadn't even looked up from his food.

"I agreed to the date. I wore the dress – the green one with the low cut top, even if I covered it up. I didn't pay enough attention and that's how he could put the pill in –"

"Do you pay attention to whatever _I'm_ doing when _we_ go out?"

"Well, no, but I trust you."

"And that's good. You should. You shouldn't have seen it coming, because it shouldn't have been coming in the first place. Nothing you did started it, nothing you did set him off."

"You don't know that, you weren't there –"

"So? You'd never deserve this in any way. Plus, the guy's a total creep. It's all his fault. If anything, you did better than any other person would've 'cause you tried to run away."

"If I didn't do anything, then why don't you want to have sex?"

He coughed and dropped his fork. The clank resounded in what once had seemed a reasonably comfortable environment. "What?"

"It's been a week. You haven't even tried anything. You're a guy. Plus, we used to do it all the time."

"Linds, I –"

"No, it's alright, I get it. I mean, things have changed. You're a great guy, and if you want us to be just friends after what happened, then I can see that and I –"

He reached the distance between them and pulled her out of her chair, kissing her passionately and pulling her beneath him on the couch. He kissed her hard, then, rolling his hips on hers and feeling her respond in turn. He let a hand glide down to her breast, and squeezed it lightly. She moaned and ran her hand through his hair, pulling him closer.

After a few minutes of a level of making out that wouldn't be permitted in most public places, he broke the kiss as abruptly as he'd started it, panting a little bit.

"And that's all we're gonna be doing for a while. Until you're better."

"Why?"

"Because you're still banged up, and I'd hurt you. I won't do that; I can't."

"So when my leg heals, we can have sex again?"

He laughed and nodded, but knew that it wasn't just the leg. He wanted to rip off her clothes and do her on the couch, and physically, she'd probably be OK. But he couldn't stand the thought of being like Rick, and when he knew she was ready, they'd do it slowly and gently in the bed, with candles going and strawberries and the whole deal. But she'd tell him. He knew that when it was safe again, she'd take the lead, and he'd follow her.

"Now, you gonna go to bed, or what?"

"It's like ten o'clock. The last time I went to bed this early, I was fourteen."

"Alright, alright, I get it. Movie?"

She shrugged, and he put in a Bond movie, hoping to cheer her up. He knew she had a thing for Sean Connery, so he purposefully chose one of the Roger Moore movies. Was it jealousy? Definitely.

She curled into his side and drew circles on his chest with her index finger while he occasionally kissed her head or twirled her hair on his finger. He felt terrible when his finger accidentally brushed the bruise on her face. She didn't seem to mind, though.

When it was over, he really wanted her to get some sleep, fully aware that the next day would be rough – they had to go to the doctor's and check out the bruising and the ankle.

Lindsay had other plans. She did not want to sleep. He woke up at two in the morning to find her gone. He worried that she was in the bathroom again, looking at the bruises, but instead found her on the kitchen floor, the good leg bent at the knee, the other in front of her. She was leaning on the cabinets next to the fridge, eating chocolate ice cream out of the jar.

"Montana, it's two fifteen in the morning. You're insane."

"I used to do this all the time with my sister." Her voice was cheery, but soft considering the hour. "We'd sneak out of our rooms in the middle of the night and eat ice cream."

"Badass," Danny muttered.

She snorted, "We lived in Montana. It was that or go swimming in the creek."

"Fair enough," he said, grabbing her spoon and helping himself to a generous portion.

"We'd plan it like three or four days ahead of time. It was huge for us," she laughed.

"I didn't know you had a sister," he mumbled through a numb tongue and chocolate sweetness.

"Yeah – Julie. And two brothers, David and Mike."

"Huh," he said pensively. He was silent, partially due to the ice cream melting in his mouth. He knew very little about her life in Montana. When he'd gone to see her in court, they'd stayed in a hotel. Her parents had been absent, no siblings, no friends. He thought it was a little strange, what with her being (in his opinion) the greatest person in the world. But he guessed that growing up with three dead best friends behind her could not be easy.

"Julie's in Los Angeles, Mike is in Albany, and David –" her breath caught on the words, "he's up in Maine."

Danny didn't push. He watched her turn away at the mention of her second brother, watched her eyes blink a little more than they should.

"What did you guys _do _all the time?"

A laugh bubbled up inside of her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't know; hung out, played sports, watched TV – it's not a different country."

"What I meant was, there're no restaurants, no theme parks, nuthin'. It's just open space."

"Great for snowball fights. And hiking. And swimming, and football. Lots and lots of football."

He jabbed the spoon into the carton and ate another spoonful. She looked up at him with a smile.

"What?" he said, practically incoherently.

"You got a little chocolate –" she brushed her hand on the side of his mouth, rubbing it for a while, until she gave up, pulled herself up using his shoulders, and licked it away, pulling back with a grin.

_Jesus that was hot, _he thought, and kissed her.

After, he dropped the spoon into the carton.

"What was it like growing up here? In the city, I mean."

"I dunno."

"See how hard that question is?"

"Very funny," he said sarcastically. "I guess it was alright. Louie and I basically just went out all the time. He took me around, we hung out with his friends. Usually we wound up doin' something not-so-legal, and my ma would drag us to church for two or three hours to repent and confess and alla that."

She smiled at him, taking one last tiny bit of the ice cream before closing it. She struggled to get up, and found that she was completely stuck. She looked up at him as he held the ice cream carton and stared down at her with a grin.

"Um, help?" She said, and reached up her hand. He ignored it and kneeled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her up with their heads even. She wrapped her legs around him and giggled. He put the carton away and walked them off to the bedroom.

As she closed her eyes and hugged the arm he'd thrown across her, she heard him whisper, "You gonna stay in bed this time, or do I gotta hold you here?"

She smiled in response, and wiggled backwards into him.


	13. Chapter 13

Uh, I don't own the characters, or the Twizzers, though I'd really like some right now. Also – this is so incredibly gooey and mushy that I don't know what to do with myself.

--

"Danny, how are you still hungry?" she chided, chasing after him down the crowded streets. His hand was wrapped loosely around her arm, allowing her to follow in the wake of his movements.

"Ya kiddin me, Montana? That food was _god-awful."_

"She's your _sister-in-law, _Danny; you've known her for ten years! You can tell her if you don't like her food."

"Just 'cause I have don't mean she listens," he finished, pulling her at last into a convenience store, letting her kinetic energy smack her into him, and he leaned down for a kiss.

She broke it quickly to give him a scolding look. For eleven o'clock at night, the Duane Reed was bustling with people.

Danny found his way to the junk food isle, earning him a glare from Lindsay. She'd sworn off of candy for the past week, trying loose a few pounds after three weeks of sitting on her ass with that stupid cast. Danny hadn't noticed a change, and had informed her of his opinion more than she'd like to hear it, but she had no desire to hear it.

Danny, in fact, thought she could gain a couple of pounds, and he worried and fussed over the nearly nonexistent bags under her eyes. And the ankle. He wouldn't stop offering to help her out of cars, down stairs, into seats. He knew she was getting frustrated with him, but he kept flashing back to his burst of pain when a fracture had become a break. He didn't care if the doctors said it was nearly healed. He wanted it completely fixed.

He stared off at Lindsay wandering down the isle to look at the gum. She held up her favorite – green apple – and he nodded, and pulled a huge bag of strawberry Twizzlers (her favorite) and a couple bags of chips from the shelves.

As he bought the stuff, he watched Lindsay fidget next to him, admiring the way her new pink dress swished and gathered at the middle of her thighs. _Jesus, she's got great legs, _he thought, pulling out his credit card to pay for the snacks.

Lindsay was watching the people outside, seeing them shake and squirm their way past each other on the crowded sidewalks. They reminded her of ants on a path to sugar – bumping and meeting, wiggling and working their way from one end to the other. Her brother Mike used to leave a little mound of sugar right in the middle of his room so he could watch them in their line. He'd pull his sisters into the room, laughing when Julie would shriek and race out of the room on the tips of her toes to avoid getting ants all over her. Mike and Lindsay would watch the little insects, observing them and poking them.

She was shaken out of her reverie when Danny tapped her waist, pushing her towards the door. They'd taken the subway to his sister-in-law's house, and had stayed way longer than they'd intended. Danny was irked that he hadn't brought the bike, because he wasn't pleased about Lindsay having to take the subway (a good thirty minute ride) this late at night, even if he was with her.

Lindsay's mouth was pursed around a Twizzler. She liked to bite the ends off first, and eat the remaining section in strips. Unless, of course, she could use it as a straw for soda. She saw Danny walking pensively beside her, his eyes absentmindedly scanning the area for a subway station. She pulled out a Twizzler and popped it into his slightly parted mouth, startling him.

"Twerp," he said through a mouthful of red candy, and tickled her. She squirmed until he stopped, then wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a sticky, strawberry flavored kiss on his lips.

They sat down in a coffee shop. Danny bought them some tea and they ate the snacks quickly, all of it spread out like aluminum-wrapped treasure before them. Their feet twined and slid under the table.

"You're a bottomless pit," Lindsay laughed.

"No. I barely ate anything at Allie's house! For good reason, too. I'm not too cool with dying young." Lindsay kicked his shin under the table for his rudeness, but couldn't hide her smirk.

He caught four guys checking her out on the subway platform. He was not pleased. He gave her his jacket, pleading that it was cold and she could catch something, but in truth the jacket covered the sleeveless pink miracle she was wearing, covering her with something of his.

They had their own car, something Danny had pulled and dragged her around the platform for as he heard the unmistakable rumbling and squeaking of the tracks. She straddled his waist in the chair, his arms around her hips, and they kissed and caressed as gray tunnels and advertisements played the backdrop for their reflections in the window – a moving black and jean organism with flashes of bright pink.

They were barely disconnected, even on the walk up to the apartment. Some stairs took forever, pausing to press against the wall or stand on the steps, but for some of the flights, Lindsay would grab Danny's hand and drag him, faster than he thought she could move.

Lindsay barely had time to touch the door before he lifted her and pressed her to it, and she was suddenly aware of his hands on her bare thighs, right at the hem of the dress, pulling and pushing her at the same time. She dragged the keys from his pocket and they tumbled inside.

The clothes disappeared and everything slowed. They moved quietly, smoothly. They were more aware of each other than they had been before. Their minds were awash with lights and stars, and finally, three hours later, Stella interrupted the dreamy quality of their night with a phone call.

Danny sat up, Lindsay straddling his waist, and groaned, reaching for the phone. She tickled and licked his ear as he answered, and his voice was a groan rather than a response.

"Hey?"

"Hey, Danny. It's Stella. Lindsay there?"

"Uh, um, yeah. Here." He covered the mouthpiece with his thumb and drew her in for a searing kiss before shoving the phone at her.

"St-Stell?"

"Yeah, hey, honey."

"Hi?"

Stella laughed, "I know, it's three in the morning and I can sense that you're … busy. But I have news I think you'll want to hear. It's about Rick."

Lindsay pulled away from Danny's neck and sat up straighter, suddenly cold. "What about him?"

Danny looked at her with confusion, watching the slight shiver that went through her.

"He's been apprehended. He tried to go up into your apartment. He tried to break in through the window. We caught him, searched his car, and found pictures of you out at crime scenes, eating lunch."

"How is that good news?" Lindsay shivered again, wrapping his arms around her right up under her arms. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He heard Stella through the quiet of the night, her tinny voice wafting from Lindsay's ear.

"The stalking charge is gonna stick. He's violated a restraining order twice, we have the pictures, the attack – Lindsay, he's going away for a while."

Lindsay smiled.

"I'll leave you with that. Sorry I woke you." She laughed, "Have fun!"

With a click, she was gone.

"What'd she –" She was at Danny's lips faster than she'd ever been before, kissing and sucking and pushing him back to the bed with a laugh in the back of her throat.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: I'm wrapping this up, but it's so hard! Does anyone have any ideas for an ending type of thing? I'm open to any suggestions or critiques you guys have..._

_Thanks for the most recent reviews! I really appreciate them._

* * *

"You know what, this was a bad idea," Lindsay said for the thousandth time. She spun and smashed right into Danny, whose hands steadied her shoulders firmly.

"Montana …" he growled.

"No, you're right. I'll go in." Danny had spent hours trying to talk her out of interrogating Rick, but Stella and the psychologist had sworn to her that it was a surefire way to get him a heavier sentence.

Danny was tired of her indecision. He was three seconds from picking her up and dragging her away from there, but he took solace in the fact that he'd be in there with her to stop the guy from touching her. And also because, if this worked, and the jury could see how Rick behaved around her, then they'd know what kind of person he was, and put him away for longer.

Lindsay walked in front of him, her hands down at her sides. Any ordinary person would think she was relaxed, but Danny knew that her arms were too straight, too tensed, and her shoulders were too high, and, worst of all, she was scared to death. That was the part he hated the most. He hated how brave she was, because it meant that even though she would close her eyes and shudder at the mention of Rick's name, she was willing to face him. She was braver than he could ever be, and it scared the shit out of him.

Danny, however, had one advantage over Lindsay, and that was that he was not afraid of Rick. In fact, given the slightest indication, he would absolutely love to smash Rick's girly little face into a thousand pieces.

"He's in there," Stella said, pointing to the door to her left. She looked tired, probably from the hours she'd spent cataloging and interpreting the evidence, more than any other in the team. "We think Lindsay should go in alone, but –"

"No." Danny was firm on that issue. He wouldn't budge, even through the pleading look Stella gave him.

Lindsay took a deep breath, and pretended to build an iron wall around herself. It was an old trick her brother Mike had taught her, that if there was a strong enough mental force around her, then nothing could ever hurt her. Of course, it didn't always work. But if worst came to worst, she had Danny.

She opened the door and Danny brushed past her. She hadn't expected him to go in first, but she couldn't say that she minded that much. Danny stood at the end of the table, semi-in between Lindsay and Rick. Rick's face brightened when she walked in.

"Oh, Lindsay, thank goodness you're here."

She brought her face into a pleasantly surprised grimace, and asked, "Why is that, Rick?"

"They've been saying the most terrible things! They said that I violated you."

"Rick, you _did _violate me."

Danny faded, and the world focused on what she'd hoped for – her and a suspect. That's all it was. She just needed a confession, and then she could leave. She concentrated completely on Rick, on breaking him down with simple truths and harsh realities.

"No, I didn't. I was helping you."

"Helping me how?"

"You are such a prude, Lindsay." Lindsay heard Danny's sharp intake of breath, but ignored it.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you are. You always were. Even when I left. You pretended to ignore me, but I knew. I used to sit outside your room, Lindsay. Don't pretend you didn't know. I used to watch you get dressed and ready for bed. I used to …"

She was doing it, she knew. She had almost everything she needed. But it was killing her.

"…and those legs. You have the best legs, Lindsay."

"Rick, I was seven years old. Did you watch me get dressed then?"

"Yes," he smiled happily, "you were so hot, even then."

She recoiled, but she couldn't help it. She didn't know a thing about boys at seven, only that they were sometimes taller and didn't think she could play football. She drew back in her chair because she couldn't take the thought of it all, that at seven years old, the world she remembered was corrupt and perturbed.

She saw the change in Rick's demeanor immediately, and so did Danny. He was fuming by then, and took a small step towards Rick, his body rigid.

"Don't _do _that, you stupid bitch. You aren't supposed to _do _that. I have to teach you. This isn't wrong. It's normal and you have to learn that." He scooted closer in his chair and leaned across the table.

Lindsay kicked him hard in the shin, and swallowed hard when she heard him shriek in pain and stand up to lunge across the table at her. He was screaming something about how she 'never learned,' but she could hear nothing. She took a step up and gathered the files on the desk. Danny was holding him back, slamming him into his chair. Danny jerked his head at the door, indicating that she could leave.

Lindsay agreed. They had enough. The tape was admissible, and Rick, unbeknownst to him, had acted perfectly. Lindsay skedaddled out of the room so fast she thought her head would spin.

Stella reached out and Lindsay leaned into the hug, letting the smell of Stella's perfume calm her. Stella represented things that were good to her, things that made simple sense, like new shoes or bright colors.

Danny came out once the officers had subdued Rick. He was feeling pretty good, having got a punch or two in the guy before leaving. His second hit had drawn blood, streaming red from Rick's nose, and he was damn proud of it. He started feeling badly when he saw Lindsay leaning on Stella, face obscured, arms at her sides.

"Hey, Montana, let's get outta here, yeah?"

She nodded and took his hand. He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting their bodies fall into the synch of walking. He leaned down for a kiss.

They went out to lunch at a nearby restaurant, sitting outside in the warm air, watching the people that passed. The table was round, and small, and he took advantage of it to reach across the patterned surface and take her hands again, kissing them and stroking her fingers carefully.

It brought her out of her thoughts to smile sweetly at him, silent but attentive.

She took a breath, and exhaled heavily out towards the street. "Well," she said, "I guess he's creepier than I thought."

Danny smirked; he couldn't hide it, and eventually it turned into an all out snort. The tension of the day had been pressing down hard on him. He felt crushed, and useless at protecting her from it all, and all of a sudden he couldn't do anything but laugh.

"It wasn't _that _funny," Lindsay said, giggling.

The waiter gave them their drinks with raised eyebrow, eyes darting back between the two tired, thirsty people laughing their heads off in front of him.

When they'd calmed down, Danny kissed Lindsay's hand again, sucking lightly on the knuckle of her thumb.

"He's going away for a really long time, Linds," he said.

"I know," she said, smiling. "Hey, do you want to take a trip somewhere?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Where were ya thinking?"

"There's someone I want you to meet."


	15. Chapter 15

_Ncisabbylover - enough fluff for you at the end? :)_

_Special thanks to Rejo, who's been incredibly encouraging and (to my knowledge) has reviewed every thing I wrote. Ever. I think. Lots of others, too. But still. Thanks._

"David, this is Danny. Danny, David," Lindsay gestured to the man lying on the cot in front of them, whose hand she held tightly.

"It's nice to meet you," David rasped. His breath came slowly with the onset of the cancer.

Danny pulled over a chair for Lindsay to sit in, helping her into it. He asked if they wanted anything, and went off to find a glass of water for David and some Snickers for himself and Lindsay to share.

Lindsay was grateful for his absence for the first time since the attack. She'd always wanted Danny close to her, but now, with David lying pale and bruised by medicine in front of her, she wanted only to crawl into his bed and speak to him for days.

"I missed you," Lindsay managed through the lump in her throat. "I missed you so much, Davey."

"I told you never to call me that," he said.

Lindsay smiled. "Davey. Davey, Davey, Davey."

"Same brat as ever," David smiled.

Lindsay hesitated before asking him, but she knew it had to be done. She had to tell him; he was her big brother and she had to know his opinion. "David – do you remember a guy named Rick?"

David's face furrowed in thought. He coughed, and Lindsay brought him a paper tissue. He waved her hand away. "Scrawny little kid?"

Lindsay nodded.

"Yeah, I remember. Real creepy. Never liked the guy."

Lindsay smiled, and a tear escaped from her eye. "That's the one."

"Why?"

"No reason," she said softly. She didn't want to tell him. She really, _really, _didn't want to tell him.

David raised an eyebrow, a feat Lindsay had never been able to accomplish. "Come on, Lindsay, you know I can read you like a book."

She started from the beginning, her voice calm and constant throughout. It sounded different now that she was healed and warm and loving Danny and holding David's hand.

When she finished, David was silent, his eyes were closed, but Lindsay knew he was awake. She kept her soft hold on his hand, taking comfort in the gentle pulse of his wrist.

"I'm sorry, Lindsay."

"It's over now. The trial is next week."

"You sure he'll be convicted?"

Lindsay smiled, thinking of Stella's perfectly organized evidence and written testimony. "I'm not scared." _Plus, Danny will be there. Just like last time._

"Good."

Lindsay watched his chest rise and fall in slow, stuttering motions. The nurse told her that David had no more than a month left. Lindsay wished for a miracle, holding on to David's hand to keep him there._ That sort of thing happens all the time._

"You worried about me?" David asked slowly.

"Um."

"Thought so."

"Just a little."

"Don't be."

"David –"

"If the doctors were right all the time, I'd have died last year."

Lindsay nodded. She slowly bent and rested her head next to David's shoulder. "I don't want to leave you."

"I'm fine, Lindsay. I know you love me."

Danny walked in a few minutes later, taking the silence as his cue to enter. He placed the water for David on the bedside table, and offered Lindsay the first bite of the Snickers bar. She nodded and took it, sitting up in her chair.

"So, Danny." David said.

Danny looked up.

"Lindsay's talked about you."

Danny smirked at Lindsay. "Good things, I hope."

"Anything's better than Steven."

"Who, now?"

Lindsay shook her head at David, who smiled and continued. "This ex-boyfriend of Lindsay's. Not too nice. Not too sober."

Lindsay sighed and rested her head on her hands. _Danny'll give me the third degree about that later._

"And don't get me started on Mike."

The nurse came in, telling David that he needed some rest. Lindsay thanked the nurse, catching herself equally knowing grins from David and Danny. Lindsay kissed David on the cheek.

"Go home to New York, OK?"

"I don't want to leave you …"

"Go. I'll be fine. There's nothing for you to do. It's all up to me now."

Lindsay hesitated, then kissed her brother gently on his cheek, squeezing his hand softly in goodbye. "I love you so much," she whispered.

Danny gave David a half-wave, and David nodded at him. "Take care of her," he said softly.

Lindsay broke down in front of the car, sobbing and moaning and holding Danny tightly. Danny rocked her, and kissed her when he could and reminded her that they could come up Maine anytime she wanted, she just had to ask.

When Lindsay was calm and quiet in the car, two hours on the way to New York, Danny took her hand.

"You know I love you, right?" He said.

"Yes, I do. I love you, too."

"I just don't say it enough, huh?"

"I know. You don't always have to." She rubbed her thumb on the side of his index finger.

They were quiet for a while, listening to the hum of the motor and the soft sounds of the music from the speakers.

"So, who's this Steven guy?" Danny finally asked.

Lindsay shook her head. "No one," she said quickly.

"You sure?"

"He was my first boyfriend."

"And …?" Danny asked.

Lindsay told him of the log cabin treehouse, and Steven's last name, which made Danny laugh. He agreed with her that making a joke about that was pretty damn hard to do. When she told him about the beer and the car wreck, Danny swore loudly.

She told him about Mike, too, the guy with a metal plate in his head who'd laughed too loudly and yelled too much. Danny asked if Mike had a last name, and if Lindsay knew where either Mike or Steven lived. Lindsay shook her head with a laugh, and swore that if he ever looked either of them up, she'd smack his head so hard he'd be dizzy for days.

"No more Mikes," Danny said, "No more Stevens."

"Who does that leave?" Lindsay asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Me, dumbass," Danny joked.

"You don't say."

"So, you gonna marry me or what?"

"Are you kidding me, Messer?"

"Nope."

"Then yes."

Danny pulled over abruptly off of the highway, skidding the car to a stop. He pushed it into park, unbuckled Lindsay and his own seatbelts, and pulled her over into his lap, kissing her deeply.


End file.
